When Mayfair had said he had to meet with Dr. Borden twice a week, Kurt hadn't realized that she meant that he had to sit down with the man before he could even get to work on the case. He'd arrived at the office at the crack of dawn to get an early start, but his boss had clearly anticipated that and left a note on his desk directing him to have a session with the doctor first. He decided to get right down to business. "Morning, Doc," he greeted as he dropped into the chair across from Borden. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Good morning, Agent Weller," Dr. Borden said evenly, equal parts amused and annoyed at his clear reluctance to be here. Why was it that men like him always seemed to feel that talking about their feelings was a threat to their masculinity? "I feel like I should be the one asking you that question. I understand you met with Taylor last night. How did that go?"
"She didn't recognize me, if that's what you're asking. And she wants to continue to be called Jane, rather than Taylor," Kurt admitted, still struggling with the notion. Jane Doe was a designation for an unidentified woman in a morgue, not a title for a living, vibrant woman. Not a name for his childhood friend.
"That bothers you," Borden observed. "Why?"
Kurt shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "She has an identity; she's Taylor Shaw. She has a hometown, and a past, and people who love—loved her. She's not a Jane Doe."
"Actually . . ." Borden drew out the word; "in her mind, that's exactly what she is. Telling her that she's Taylor Shaw isn't instantly going to make her feel connected to that identity, Agent Weller. She doesn't remember that past; she doesn't know you; she doesn't even know herself. The best thing you can do at this point is to support her decision and help her get to know the person she was. I have a feeling you may be pleasantly surprised at how quickly she comes around."
Kurt nodded slowly. What Borden was saying made sense. He might not agree with Taylor's—Jane's—decision, but she was the victim here, and he needed to allow her to find her own way as much as possible. "I'll try."
"That's all anyone can ask for." Borden hesitated. "I was wondering if you would mind sharing with me some of your memories of Taylor as well. Since I'm going to be seeing T—Jane, it might be helpful to have some of those blanks filled in. I'll understand if it's too painful for you—"
"What do you want to know, Doc?" Kurt interrupted.
Borden thought about it. "Why don't you start at the beginning of your relationship? Tell me how you went from being friends and neighbors and almost-siblings to dating one another and falling in love." In addition to providing him with necessary information to help Jane navigate any memories that returned, he thought it would also be cathartic for Agent Weller to talk about their history.
"Actually, Doc, in our case, that's kind of the middle of the story," Kurt corrected with a wry laugh. "We didn't exactly do things like a typical couple." The understatement of the century, if ever there was one.
"Well, now I'm intrigued." Borden leaned forward. "Start where you see fit, but please don't keep me in suspense, Agent Weller."
Kurt nodded as he cast his mind back to the day nearly fifteen years ago when their journey had begun . . .
xxx
Clearfield, Pennsylvania
January 2001
He'd left New York City in the wee hours of the morning in order to get here before anybody else was around, but it appeared that one early bird had beaten him to the punch. Kurt kept his eyes on that solitary figure in the distance as he navigated the rows of graves in the quiet cemetery, surprised to realize as he drew closer that it was his mother's headstone the black-hooded individual was curled up beside.
Recognition dawned as he approached. "Taylor?"
Taylor started at the sound of Kurt's voice, but she didn't look up, her fingers continuing to trace the script on the headstone. She'd known he would come here today—it was the anniversary of his mother's death, after all, and he never missed that—but she'd thought she would have more time before he arrived. She'd thought that this was the one place she could be alone to grieve all that she had lost and was about to lose. "Hey, Kurt."
Kurt's eyes narrowed at Taylor's muted tone. He was accustomed to her flinging herself into his arms the moment she first saw him on one of his visits home, but today it almost sounded as if she were fighting back tears. He knelt down in front of her, pushing her hood back from her face, his suspicions confirmed by the tear tracks on her cheeks. He gently cupped her jaw, swiping at her tears with his thumbs. "Why so sad, brat?"
She smiled halfheartedly at his affectionate nickname for her. "I just miss her is all," she said, knowing he would misunderstand which 'her' she was referring to. She missed his mom, of course—Patricia had been like a second mother to her—but it was her own mom she was watching disappear a little more every day. She'd known long before her mother told her that cancer was winning the war the two of them were waging. What she hadn't realized was what that would mean for her.
Kurt put his arm around Taylor's shoulders and pulled her close. "Me too. It's hard to believe she's been gone three years now." The two of them sat in companionable silence for some time, each lost in their own memories, before he spoke again. "She loved you like a daughter, you know. She was so proud of you, and she wouldn't want you to be sad."
Taylor smiled through her tears, knowing it was his own mom of whom he was speaking, but his words could just as easily be applied to hers. "Yeah . . . I know." She reluctantly drew back, knowing she was one kind word away from losing it completely and not wanting to add to his burden on this of all days. "I, uh . . . I should probably get going, let you have some time alone." She got to her feet. "It was good to see you again, Kurt." His visits, which had always been less often than she would have liked, had become an increasingly rare occurrence since Sarah graduated from high school, his phone calls more and more infrequent as well.
He was moving on with his life, on from her, and though she was happy for him, happy that the future he had dreamed of for so long was finally in reach for him, it was just one more loss she would have to bear. She doubted she would ever see him again once he left this time, and that knowledge made this meeting all the more bittersweet.
Kurt grabbed her hand before she could walk away. "Before you go . . . tell me what's really bothering you, Taylor. Please."
Her automatic refusal died on her lips at the pleading in his voice. She should have known she couldn't pull one over on Kurt, but he had been away so long she had forgotten just how good he was at reading her. "What gave me away?" she asked as she sat back down.
"You mean besides the fact that you're sitting in a deserted cemetery at this hour in the freezing cold, crying your eyes out beside my mom's grave, even though she's been dead for three years?" Kurt slung his arm back across Taylor's shoulders. "Out with it, brat. What's wrong?"
"Mom's dying, Kurt," Taylor whispered, feeling a fresh wave of tears well up in her eyes. "She told me last week that her cancer's come back, and it's . . . it's metastasized to her bones and liver. Her doctor thinks she has three months left at best."
"Oh, Taylor." Kurt gathered her close, holding her tightly as she lost the battle with her tears and sobs wracked her body. He knew firsthand the awful void losing a parent put in one's life; in every way that counted, he had lost both of his on the night a drunk driver slammed into his mother's car, but at least his dad had still been physically present. Taylor was going to be an orphan.
He rubbed her back gently as that realization sank in. Taylor was still a minor, with no blood relations that he knew of, so unless someone stepped in to take her, she would become a ward of the state. He held her until she stopped trembling and then eased back enough to see her face. "What about you? Has your mom found you somewhere to go yet?" He knew Emma would move heaven and earth to find a loving home for her daughter. Taylor was the most precious thing in the world to her.
Taylor took a ragged breath. "No. She's still trying, but she told me last night that . . . that everyone we've been able to think of so far who might take me either doesn't have room or . . . or has too much going on in their lives to handle the extra responsibility. Barring a miracle, at this point it looks like I'm going to end up in foster care. I just hope they can find a home for me here in Clearfield, so I can finish high school with my friends."
Kurt felt like he'd been punched in the gut. How could none of her friend's parents be willing to take in a girl as special as Taylor? She'd never given her mom an ounce of anxiety her whole life. What if she wound up in a bad foster home, the kind you saw on the news after the kids in their care were traumatized or dead? "Not going to happen," he said with conviction. "You're practically my sister. I'll drop out of college and come home to take care of you myself before I'll let you go to strangers."
Taylor smiled sadly. "It's a nice thought and I really appreciate the offer, but I can't let you do that. You have your own future to consider. You've wanted to be an FBI agent for as far back as I can remember. Besides, you're not a licensed foster parent, so you couldn't get custody of me anyway. Now if you were actually my brother, you might have a shot." At least now she knew he cared enough to perhaps stay in touch after all.
Kurt nodded soberly. "So I need to convince my dad to adopt you, then."
"Kurt . . ."
"I know, Taylor," he said quietly. It was the ultimate irony that the drunk who had taken his mother from them had turned his father into one. No judge in his right mind would ever let Bill Weller take custody of Taylor. "We'll figure something out. Remember what Mom used to say? For every problem, there is a solution. We just haven't found this one's yet."
Taylor closed her eyes, fighting the hope his words evoked in her. Kurt saw her struggling with doubt and tickled her lightly. "What's this, brat? Have I been away so long you don't have any faith in me anymore? Have I ever let you down before?"
"Never," Taylor said solemnly. "But—"
"No buts, Taylor. We will figure this out. Now come on," he added in a determinedly lighter tone, getting to his feet and pulling her up beside him, "I'll drive you home, and we'll sit down with your mom and brainstorm, okay?"
"Don't you . . . don't you want to visit with your mom for a while?" Taylor asked. "I can walk myself home. And Sarah's probably waiting to see you as well." Knowing Kurt, he had driven straight here before stopping to see his family.
"No need. Sarah will understand, and we'll come back later." With his father, if they could sober him up enough to walk a straight line. If his mother were here right now, she would be the first to insist he go help the living rather than mourning the dead. Of course, if she were here, this would have been a non-issue anyway. He started toward his car.
Taylor fell into step beside him. "This would all be so much easier if Pennsylvania gave kids the right to be emancipated. That way I wouldn't have to go live with strangers. It's not like I don't know how to take care of myself."
The last thing Taylor would need after losing her mother was to be alone in the house they had shared, but Kurt kept that opinion to himself. "Well, since they're not going to change the law just for you, we'll just have to keep thinking on it. Even if that were an option, you're not even old enough to get your learner's permit yet, Taylor. You couldn't walk everywhere you needed to go, even in a town this small."
"I'm going to be sixteen in three weeks," Taylor reminded him. "I'll be able to get my learner's permit then and have my junior driver's license in six months if I get enough practice. Which means—" she gave a little skip as they approached his car, "—the next time you come back to visit, I'll be able to drive you around."
Kurt grinned down at her, relieved her mood had lightened. He started to ask her if anyone had warned the residents of Clearfield, but thought better of it. "In that case, I'll make a point to come back in a month, and we can go for a drive."
He always knew exactly the right thing to say. "Thanks, Kurt," Taylor said gratefully as she climbed into the passenger seat of his car.
"I'm sorry, Taylor," Kurt said quietly as he got behind the wheel and started the car. She threw him a questioning glance. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you after Mom died, that I didn't visit as often as I should have. I haven't been a very good friend to you, and you deserved better."
"I get it, Kurt," Taylor said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Some days I walk into the house when Mom's having one of her bad spells, and it's so quiet it feels like a tomb. It's like her disease has sucked all the laughter and warmth out of the place that used to be home, leaving only a shell behind. I know it'll be a thousand times worse when she's gone, so I understand why you needed to stay away."
He glanced over at her, simultaneously struck by the maturity of her insights and saddened that a fifteen-year-old could empathize so well with him. "I still should have kept in touch, Taylor. I'll do better from now on; I promise."
"I'll hold you to that," Taylor murmured to herself once his attention was back on the road. Clearly, Kurt Weller could benefit from her support as much as she was going to need his.
She wouldn't let him vanish from her life so easily again.
xxx
New York City
Present Day
Dr. Borden was leaning forward on the edge of his seat when Kurt paused in his recitation to take a sip of coffee, but before he could continue, the door slid open, and Zapata appeared.
"Sorry to interrupt, boss, but Mayfair needs you in the conference room. She's assigning Bryant's team to another case, and she wants them to update us on their progress on the Taylor Shaw investigation first."
"On my way," Kurt replied, getting to his feet, and she nodded as she exited as quickly as she'd come. "So, I'll see you the first of next week, Doc?"
"Try tomorrow," Borden corrected. "Mayfair wants us to meet twice a week, and we've only had one session so far this week. Same time, same place tomorrow morning?"
"Fine," Kurt conceded reluctantly, "but you're not fooling me, Doc. That session is more for you than me. I saw your face as I was telling my story, and I know you just want me back in here to find out what happens next."
Borden held up his hands. "Guilty as charged. You're a surprisingly good storyteller, Agent Weller. You made me feel like I was right there with you. If you ever get tired of the FBI, you might want to consider a career as an author."
Kurt gave a short bark of laughter as he rubbed the back of his neck, torn between amusement and concern about how much of himself he might have just unwittingly revealed. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Doc, but I don't think I'm exactly cut out to sit behind a desk all the time. I'm . . . I'd better get going before Mayfair sends out a search party. I'll see you tomorrow." He fled out the door and didn't slow his steps until he reached the conference room.
Everyone was already seated around the table waiting for him when he entered. "Okay, let's get started," Mayfair said briskly as soon as he was seated. "I know you're all aware of most of what happened yesterday, but I didn't have a chance to debrief with Agent Bryant's team due to him being shot, so I'm going to ask Agents Martinez and Foster to start by giving a brief recap of the day's events."
"How is Agent Bryant?" Reade asked before they could begin.
"He came through surgery well, but there was extensive damage to his shoulder, and he's got a long road to recovery ahead of him. It's uncertain at this point if he'll regain enough mobility to be an active duty agent," Mayfair told them.
That news hit them all hard. They each glanced at one another somberly before Mayfair nodded to Martinez and Foster to continue. The two of them took turns filling in the blanks for Weller and his team, ending with Taylor's recovery of her first memory.
"Jane," Weller corrected automatically.
All eyes turned to him. "I beg your pardon?" Mayfair asked.
"She wants to continue to be called Jane Doe, at least until she regains some memories of being Taylor Shaw," Weller explained.
"I see." Mayfair was silent for a moment, considering, but she could see no harm in it. "Jane Doe it is. What did she remember?"
"Running an outdoor shooting course," Foster said.
That news stunned Kurt. Once she'd said she didn't recognize him, he hadn't thought to ask Jane what she'd remembered. He'd taught Taylor how to handle a firearm in case she ever needed to defend herself against an intruder, but she had never particularly liked using them. Never would he have thought she would voluntarily do so.
"Who is this woman?" Mayfair wondered aloud, but no one answered her. The question was clearly rhetorical.
The meeting broke up a few minutes later, Agents Martinez and Foster filing out first, followed by Reade and Zapata, but when Kurt rose to leave as well, she stopped him. "Weller, a word." He sat back down next to her, and she studied him in silence for a long moment. He'd seemed rather on edge when he came into the room after his session with Borden. "You're sure you want to do this? Say the word, and I'll shut this investigation down right now." They could still look into what had happened to Taylor Shaw without following the tattoos.
"I want to do this." Kurt's voice didn't sound convincing, even to himself, and he cleared his throat. "I want to do this," he repeated much more firmly.
Mayfair nodded slowly. "All right then. I'll let you get to it. I'm about to go meet with Patterson to discuss a database she's designing to help decode these tattoos, so she may have a lead for you later, and the hospital promised to call as soon as Chao is able to be questioned."
"Is Jane here?" Kurt asked. He had a feeling she was going to be just as intractable about going out into the field with them today as she had been with Bryant, and he wanted to see her famed fighting skills for himself before he made a decision on that.
"She was scheduled to meet with Borden after your session," Mayfair told him. She glanced at her watch. "They should be finishing up any time if you want to go meet her. Just let Reade or Zapata know where you're going to be in case we catch a break."
"Yes, ma'am," Kurt replied as he exited the conference room and went in search of Jane.
Jane smiled shyly when she exited Borden's office and saw him leaning against the wall waiting for her. "Morning, Kurt."
"Morning," he returned as he motioned for her to follow him to the gun range, where he had set out an array of weapons to test her skills before coming to collect her.
"I want to apologize for upsetting you yesterday," Jane said as they walked, and he glanced at her questioningly. "I could see it bothered you that I don't want to go by Taylor, but that doesn't mean I don't want to know about her. I have so many questions about Taylor, but I'm just not ready to be her yet."
Kurt stopped and turned to face her. "You don't need to apologize, Jane; I understand," he told her, and since talking to Borden, he truly did. Looked like it was going to be a day for talking about their past whether he wanted to or not. "What would you like to know?"
"Agent Bryant told me my mom passed away, but I'd love to know what she was like. Are there people who have been looking for me? Do I have a father, or sisters or brothers?" She would gladly embrace being Taylor Shaw if it meant she had people who loved her, a place of her own to call home.
"Emma was a great mom," Kurt told her. "She worked very hard to give you everything. You were her whole world; I've never seen a mother and daughter closer than the two of you. I don't know anything about your father; he was never in the picture, and she never identified him. You didn't have sisters or brothers, but you spent a lot of time with me and my sister; you were basically part of our family."
"You have a sister?"
"Yeah." Kurt's brow furrowed at the surprise in Taylor's voice. He'd assumed Bryant had mentioned that to her. "Sarah. She's two years older than you, but the two of you were practically inseparable growing up." When she hadn't been tagging along with him, at least.
"Does she live nearby? Could I meet her sometime?" Jane's hopeful look faded at the expression on Kurt's face. She'd been wondering why they had lost touch, and she guessed now she had her answer. "Kurt? We didn't part on good terms, did we?" she asked more quietly.
This was getting dangerously close to forbidden territory. "No," Kurt replied brusquely after a long pause, hoping that would put an end to the conversation. "We didn't."
Jane kept her eyes locked on his as she nodded slowly. "I'm sorry," she apologized again. "For whatever it was I did that hurt you. And your sister."
Kurt's brow furrowed. "You assume you were the one at fault?"
His body language had practically screamed that she was. Jane would have loved to question him further, but that same body language warned her not to press the issue. He was the only link she had to her past; she didn't want to restart their relationship by having him question the wisdom of renewing it. "You don't strike me as the type to give up on a friend easily," she offered as they resumed walking. On the other hand, she had no idea what type of person she was. Or had been.
Kurt's mouth quirked up in a reluctant smile. "You've spent less than an hour in my company so far. A little early to make that call, isn't it?"
"If you were, you wouldn't be here now," Jane pointed out, effectively ending the discussion, though their conversation—and the memory Kurt had subsequently helped her to recover—stayed in the back of her mind even as the day spun more and more out of control. What kind of person was she?
She finally posed that question to Kurt when the guilt became too much for her to bear. "I lied to you this morning," she confessed as they drove toward the high-rise in search of Gibson.
Kurt glanced over at Jane. That wasn't exactly news. Her deer-in-the-headlights look was reminiscent of all the times she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar as a five-year-old.
"At the shooting range, I did remember something," she clarified when he didn't say anything. She couldn't reconcile the small-town girl she'd been told she was with the killer who cold-bloodedly shot a nun in the back of the head. What had happened to her?
"That's good," Kurt said, hoping desperately it wasn't something about them as a couple. He'd already confronted enough of those memories for one day. "What was it?"
She looked down at her hands, unable to confess the whole truth to him. Unable to admit how far his one-time friend had fallen. "Something unforgiveable." Tears welled in her eyes as she met Kurt's gaze once more. "Was that why we lost touch? Because I was a terrible person before all this?"
"No!" he said emphatically, wondering what on earth she could have done that she considered beyond redemption. "You made some bad decisions, but you weren't a bad person. You still aren't."
"How do you know?" Jane asked. How could he sound so sure when by his own admission, their falling out was entirely her fault? She longed to ask him what she had done, but she instinctively knew she wouldn't be getting a straight answer to that question.
"Your first instinct is to help people, Jane. The battered wife in Chinatown. Agent Bryant, after he was shot, and Reade, after the explosion today." Her mom's death had similarly ignited a desire to help others afflicted with cancer. "You don't hesitate. You act. And you do the right thing." If only she had done so for them. Or maybe she'd thought she had. "So I don't know what it is you're remembering, or what the context is, but I do think you're a good person." Deep down, he always had. He'd just been wrong about her being the right person for him.
Jane held his gaze for a beat longer before glancing back out the window. Please, god, she pleaded silently as they sped onward to their destination, please let Kurt be right about this.
Please let me be a good person.
xxx
Sarah was waiting for him on the couch when he walked in, and the look on her face cued Kurt in that she had something to say that he wasn't going to like. He poured himself a generous serving of scotch before taking the seat next to her. "What is it, sis?" He'd found in situations like this, it was best just to rip the Band-Aid right off. When his sister got an idea into her head, she wouldn't rest until she'd had her say.
"Dad's in town," Sarah said softly. "He'd like to see you."
Hell would freeze over first. Kurt took a healthy sip of scotch. "Not gonna happen." He could forgive the man for the verbal abuse he'd unleashed on him, but the daily tirades Sarah had endured simply for loving him and doing her best to care for him? Never.
"He's dying," Sarah announced. "It's lung cancer. He doesn't have long."
And here he'd thought the old bastard would drink himself to death. "Sarah—"
"Please just go see him," she begged as her eyes teared up. "You can fix this before it's too late."
It had been too late the moment they lowered their mother into the ground. Or maybe their family had been broken even before that, and as a teenager, he'd just been too caught up in his own interests to notice. Kurt glanced away, shaking his head slightly.
"Why won't you at least think about it?" Sarah demanded in exasperation at her brother's tacit refusal. "Your wife left you for another man, but you're willing to put that past aside and work with her. What is it our father did that you consider so much more unforgiveable than her adultery?"
"Let it go, Sarah," Kurt said hoarsely. He wouldn't shatter her faith in the man by revealing the worst of his misdeeds—not ever. The old bastard was getting off too easy, in his opinion, but he'd made a pact with the one other person his actions had directly affected, and he wouldn't break that vow of silence now. No matter how undeserving it was.
Sarah would have liked to press the issue, but her brother's clenched jaw warned her it would be ill-advised tonight. It had been foolish of her to broach this issue on his first day as lead agent on Taylor's case. She would just have to hope a more opportune moment presented itself. "Okay. We'll table this discussion. For now."
A weary smile lit Kurt's face at her doggedness, and she changed the subject. "Tell me about your day."
xxx
It seemed like each day was destined to be more of an emotional rollercoaster ride than the last. Jane sighed as she entered the sparsely furnished safe house and flipped on a light. She was grateful to the FBI for providing her a place to stay, but she wondered how long it would take to feel like home. Or if it ever would. Maybe unless and until she recovered her memories, she would remain in a constant state of limbo, not really belonging here but not having anywhere else to go either. It wasn't an encouraging thought.
She dropped her jacket on the table and headed for the refrigerator, knowing she should eat something after skipping lunch but finding the options it contained incredibly unappealing at the moment. She decided to take a shower and wash off the grime of the day before revisiting the issue.
She hummed softly to herself as she started the shower and walked back into her bedroom to shed her clothes. At least Kurt still had faith in her, despite the rocky past they apparently shared. His words about her instincts had encouraged her even more than Dr. Borden's speech about choices. If he still believed in her after whatever she had put him through, how could she not believe in herself?
Her upbeat mood was short-lived, however, as someone grabbed her from behind and clamped their hand over her mouth. "Don't make a sound," the man said in her ear. "I'm going to take my hand away . . ."
Jane reacted instinctively as he spoke, slamming her elbow back into his midsection to get free and flipping him into a chair, shattering it into pieces. After a brief, intense struggle, in which she lost a tooth, she gained the upper hand, pinning him to the wall, her arm across his windpipe.
"I came here to help," the bearded man gasped out.
"How did you get in here?" she growled through gritted teeth.
"We avoid detection," he said, struggling to draw in a full breath of air. "It's part of our training."
Jane was hit with another flashback of her bandaging his arm. "I remember you."
"What?" His eyes widened. "That's impossible."
"Who are you?" she demanded as she pressed harder on his windpipe.
"Who are you?" she rasped as she turned her head slowly to catch a glimpse of the bearded stranger whose voice had been steadily lulling her from unconsciousness for the past hour. She did not consider it a favor. Her head ached so violently she thought she might be sick—in fact, her entire body felt that way. What had happened to her?
"Welcome back," he told her, sidestepping her question about his identity. "How do you feel?"
Like she had been run over by a train, but she didn't bother to tell him that. If he wasn't going to respond to her question, she was under no obligation to answer his. She struggled to focus over the pounding in her head as she slowly glanced around, taking in her surroundings. She was clearly in some sort of makeshift hospital—though how she knew that, she had no idea—and was currently hooked up to several machines whose rhythmic beeps had aided the bearded man in his fiendish attempts to rouse her. "Where am I?"
As disconcerting as it was to wake up in a strange place with a strange man at her bedside, an even more disturbing thought quickly banished such trivial concerns. Panic filled her eyes as she met the bearded man's warm gaze once more and uttered the most critical question of all.
"Who am I?"